Some in soothing tones;
some with tough talk, / Some by both these means, he the trainer
trained. // SN13.3 //

Just as, for a disorder
of bile, phlegm, or wind -- for whatever disorder of the humours has
manifested the symptoms of disease -- / A doctor prescribes a course
of treatment to cure that very disorder; so did the Buddha prescribe
for the faults: // SN16.69 /

If, though they are
being shaken off, a trace persists of unhelpful thoughts, / One
should resort to different tasks, such as study or physical work, as
a means of consigning those thoughts to oblivion. //
SN16.77 //

In the 1st
pāda of today's verse, as I read it, Aśvaghoṣa is once again highlighting the
primacy of the individual, and the principle of versatility and
flexibility in working on the self and in teaching. If the attitude
of the tough-talking girl in the previous verse – as she generously
gave the gift of negative feedback – was somewhat challenging and
fault-finding, the girl in today's verse, being a different individual (anyā), is accentuating the
positive.

In the practice of
non-doing, all the best directions cannot be done. Anybody can move
their head forwards and downwards, but release of the head forwards
and upwards is nothing that can be done. The same applies for the
direction “back to lengthen and widen”: I may be able to do some
lengthening at the expense of widening, or vice versa, but to
lengthen AND widen is an undoing, which by definition cannot be done.

The 2nd
pāda, as I read it, expresses brightness of countenance in the
concrete terms of just such an undoable direction. It is as
easy to narrow the eyebrows as it is to stiffen the neck and pull the
head back, or to hold the breath. But to un-narrow the eyebrows is
nothing that can be done. If one wishes one's eyebrows to widen apart,
the first step might be to check that one is not unconsciously
narrowing the eyebrows, and if one is, then to stop. A further step
might be to think something conducive to continued movement in the
direction which is opposite to the narrowing of the eyebrows.... maybe a joke? Maybe a joke like appropriating a rhetorical term for a
maiden's playful imitation of her lover, and using it to describe the
most serious thing in the world.

The 3rd pāda
features a construction that, as EHJ points out in his footnote, occurs twice in Saundara-nanda; namely, anu-√kṛ (to follow in doing) with a genitive
object:

Wishing to test their
mettle among the elephants and big cats, / They
emulated the god-like deeds of the forest-dwelling son of Duṣyanta (anucakrur-vanasthasya dauṣmanter-deva-karmaṇaḥ).
// SN1.36 //

Then, surely, when she
hears of your steadfast mind with its chariots turned back from
sundry objects, / Your wife following your example (tavānukurvatī)
will also talk, to women at home,
the talk of dispassion. // SN18.59 //

In today's verse the
construction is anucakārāsya, and
the ostensible meaning is that a courtesan aped the prince's actions,
as part of her game of playful imitation. But what I think Aśvaghoṣa
has in mind is his own actions, and the actions of others like him,
who did what the Buddha did – e.g. shaved their head, wore a traditionally-sewn robe, and sat with
legs crossed for long periods on a round black cushion.

In
that case, dhīra-līlayā in the 4th
pāda, though on the surface it describes a silly girl's playful
imitation of the serious man she has in her sights, might really be
intended to touch upon a paradox that Marjory Barlow expressed as
follows:

“It
is the most serious thing in the world, this work, but you mustn't
take it seriously.”

The
essence of what Marjory called “this work” has to do with going
up, or opposing gravity. But this is not achieved by being serious
and heavy about it. A wiser course is to oppose the force of gravity
with a force of levity. And this is what today's verse, as I read it,
is all about.

The
literal meaning of dhīra-līlayā is (1) “in serious/steadfast
play.” And since līlā sometimes means “a maiden's playful
imitation of her lover,” the ostensible meaning of dhīra-līlayā
in today's verse is (2) “while she playfully imitated his
seriousness/steadfastness.” But the reality that Aśvaghoṣa has
in mind is (3) the paradoxical [serious/playful] [sincere/ironic] [straight/indirect] reality of sitting-meditation, wherein a buddha rediscovers lightness by
dealing with gravity.

A
perfectly elegant translation might cover these three bases, as
Aśvaghoṣa did, in two or three words and no square brackets. So
far the best I can do – somewhat in the manner of a miner trying to
make a golden ornament with his pick-axe and shovel – is nine words and two square brackets.